


How You Get the Guy

by singasongofdestiel



Category: Supernatural, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How You Get the Girl, How You Get the Guy, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Relationship Advice, Songfic, clueless Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singasongofdestiel/pseuds/singasongofdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has been away for six months. He turns to Sam for advice on how to restore his relationship with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Get the Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a link to the song: [http://www.jango.com/music/Taylor+Swift?l=0]

Sam sat alone in the motel, hunched over his keyboard. Research and rain, research and rain was all he had been doing for the past week. The wall clock ticked away with a good natured sense of time going down the drain and the mosquito catcher hummed like a slightly out of tune person frying eggs. Sam thought he was drifting into pleasant sub-consciousness when he first saw the lights flickering.

Unfortunately, the prodigal angel who deposited himself on the richly stained carpet made it all too clear that he was still awake.

He felt his face scrunching up as his brain tried to solve this unwelcome apparition. He sneezed. Stupid freaking rain.

“Bless you.”

“Human habits die hard, huh?” The irony was lost to Castiel, but Sam smiled anyway. His weather-induced exile had been lonely. “Really though, why are you here?”

Cas looked sheepish. “It’s about Dean,” the betrayal of a blush slithered onto his cheeks.

“Ah, you’ve come to make amends? He’s not in, as you can see.”

“I know. I came here for advice.”

 

Sam stalled. “Advice?!” His eyebrows leapt into his fringe (not hard to do as it was practically in his eyes anyway, but he was shocked nonetheless). “Cas, you’ve gotta be kidding. Just apologise to him.”

Cas put his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, grasped the air, put them away again. He shifted his feet, “I don’t know how to do that.” He seemed to find the uncovered light bulb that bleakly bleared the room into visibility a real point of interest.

Sam took in the shuffling and the mumbling and the squinting. He sighed.

“I don’t know how to make him take me back,” Cas’ words trailed off, as if this was a phrase he had run through his head more often than a local radio station repeats adverts.

_Stupid lovestruck idiots._  Sam resented the moment he had become the neutral party in all of this, the deposit box for complaints and worries. “Cas, it’s been six months and you haven’t even spoken to him.”

“I know.” Cas at least had the decency to look guilty, “I didn’t know the right thing to say. That’s why I came to you.” Sam’s reluctance and disapproval obviously showed on his face, as he continued, “You know Dean better than anyone else. I couldn’t say anything unless I knew it would be perfect.”

“So you didn’t say anything at all.” Sam pushed the screen of his laptop closed. Like it or not, he wouldn’t be getting any more research done until he could clear Cas’ feathery ass out of here.

“Sit down.”

 

“Battle plan, then. Do you have any ideas?”

“I wasn’t planning on any military manoeuvres; do you think I should?”

The energy required to explain that it was just a saying was way out of Sam’s reach by this time of night. He shifted his eyes to the clock— 11:38. Not late, but not the time for a relationship therapy session either.

“No.” Cas would just have to stay bemused. “You have absolutely no clue what to say to him do you?”

Cas shook his head and stared into his clasped hands, as if secrets could be found in the poorly named love line arching across his palms. Sam gave up the thought of getting him rid of him anytime soon.

 

“Dean’s a sucker for romantic gestures. Make it cheesy, make it heartfelt and he’ll eat it up.”

“How do I express the dairy-like qualities of my emotions?”

That didn’t even deserve a sigh.

“You go up to his door, wait outside for him. When he answers say something like, “It’s been a long six months, and you were too afraid to tell him what you want.””

“Too afraid.” Cas murmured to himself, as if Sam was a sage spouting words to be committed to heart.

“And then you say, “I want you, or words that go better. For worse or for better or something. I would wait forever and ever.”” Sam started to warm to this topic, drawing on his experiences of 12-year-old Valentine’s Day cards, ““Broke your heart, I’ll put it back together. I would wait forever and ever.””

“I say that twice?”

“It’s poetic.” Sam snapped, “It’ll make it sound like you’ll actually stick around this time.” Bitterness was lemon juice, lubricating his next words. “You do intend to stay don’t you?”

Having spent the Cas-less interim piecing Dean back together, rebuilding his inherent belief in humanity's goodness and the spontaneous joy that used to come so naturally, Sam was reluctant to throw the metaphorical lighter back into petrol-soaked ashes. It wasn’t like heartbreak had reduced his brother to a blubbering wreck, but it had made his smile a lot less easy-going and the alcohol consumption a lot more so.

Cas didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know why he was doing this. His brother had found his soul mate when he fell on the roof of that barn. It had taken them both a while to realise it, and it sure as hell wasn’t anywhere close to a healthy relationship but they were in love and, in as non-dependent a sense as was possible, they needed each other.

He went to get two beers out the fridge and placed one in front of the still silent Cas. “You’ll have to remind him how it used to be. Take him framed pictures of you guys kissing on the cheek or something, whatever it was you got up to.”

Cas nodded and held the beer bottle in his hands, still refusing to meet Sam’s eyes.

“Tell him that you lost your mind, when you left him all alone— and never told him why.” Cas flinched as if Sam had jabbed a fork into his thighs, and Sam softened a little. He didn’t melt but the edges of his anger blurred, as if someone had taken a putty rubber to them.

“And that’s how it works.” A shift in Cas’ shoulders foreshadowed the raise of his head. Blue eyes met brown as they consolidated a truce sprouting from mutual goals. “That’s how you get your guy.”

 

                   *                  *                  *                  *                  *                 *

 

Cas stood there like a ghost, shaking as the collar of his ‘coat’ funnelled the rain in a freezing channel down his back. The door opened and a grumpy, sleep muffled head of hair stuck out into the downpour. It pulled back quickly, bristling at the inconsiderate weather.

“Cas?” Dean blinked once, then “Are you insane?!”

Cas gulped, there was anger and hurt and confusion in the question that was probably only partially caused by the fact that his visit was at 3am in the middle of a storm. Dean stared at him, his brows pinched together.  _Right, what did Sam say…_

“It’s, it’s been a long six months.” Dean visibly reacted less than Nelson’s column does when a pigeon shits on it.

“And I was… too afraid… to tell you want I want.”

Cas cleared his throat and looked into the green eyes he had known so well, half-forgotten but remembered exactly.

“I want you, or words that go better.” This sparked a reaction, an intake of breath that cut short at about the same moment Cas realised his mistake. “For worse or for better!” he said hurriedly, refusing to let Dean cut him off.

“Broke your heart, I’ll put it back together. I would wait forever and ever.” Dean started to step back into his halo of light, drawing away from the yawning precipice that Cas was beckoning him towards, standing in the middle of a fraying rope bridge above a river that most definitely contained crocodiles.

“I can remind you how it used to be, I have pictures!  In frames! Of, of kisses on cheeks!”

A grey socked foot stopped the door closing fully, the hand pressed against the doorjamb spread with tension.

“I lost my mind. I lost my mind, when I left you all alone—“ Cas could feel the tears he had never let become more than an acidic sting in his nostrils accumulating in the corners of his eyes.

He stepped away from the door, whispering into the rain.  “And I never told you why.”

Failure settled on him like a shroud. This was all just a selfish attempt to reel back in the one good thing he had had, that he had thrown away. The best thing would be for him to leave now.

Yet the precipitation clenched him to the spot. Brittle sobs sent shockwaves through his body as he imploded; mourning the future he thought he would always have.

When he tried to open his eyes, there was only a blinding light that begged him to shut out everything. Strangely enough he could easily differentiate between the heavy tears running down his nose and the rain slicing down from the clouds.

 

“You know,” an incongruously light voice lilted through the waves of grief, “I don’t want you to go.”

Cas opened his eyes to see that the bright light was actually just the lamp on the porch. Dean stepped into the realm of vision available to his tear-weakened eyes and spoke again, in the gentle tone of voice you would use to coax at cat inside, or a child off a roof. “Remind me how it used to be, with pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks.”

A road roughened hand sheltered his cheek from the weather, a thumb stroking the persistent tears away even as they left his lashes.

Eyes locked, he whispered, “Say you want me.”

Hoarse, unbelieving, Cas breathed out, “I want you.”

And that was all there was really, of course it was. Deep and chasmal wanting that made the past unbearable, and instantly dismissible.

He gulped, swallowing rain and tears and hope. “I want you, forever and ever.”

Dean’s hands cradled his head to pull him in close, into a hug so tightly locked around his shoulders that Cas could feel the tightened arm muscles through his many layers of clothing. He wanted to see Dean, touch him, relearn him, unlearn him until he was as natural as breathing underwater again. Dean’s arms shook and Cas realised that he was crying too, smiling but not smiling all at once.

Relief and forgiveness and heartbreak. Enough to make anyone unaware of the climatic conditions. Despite the coursing rip tides of emotion, Cas saw Dean’s grey socks were almost black now, and his arms were bare and rivulets of rain were spilling from his hair into his face.

He stepped away from Dean, clutching his hand to drag him inside. Partially as a selfless action to make sure he was warm, and partially as a wholly selfish action so that they could begin the process of mending and tacking and tearing. Selfishly, because now that he was back, Cas couldn’t think of anything but the altogether too large distance between his and Dean’s lips.

         

          *                  *                  *                  *                  *                  *

At 5:15am Sam was woken up by the obnoxious flashing of his mobile.

He rubbed his eyes and noticed that the faint grey light leaking through the curtains was no longer tainted with rain.  
  


He opened the text message that had prompted the technological outcry.

 

\-----------------------

~~~ He’s back ~~~

\-----------------------

_Yeah_ , he thought,  _that’s how you got the guy_.


End file.
